forever and a lifetime
by Cooper-Gwen
Summary: ("I'll wait forever and a lifetime to find I'm not alone...) At sixteen, Emma Swan is on her way to Storybrooke, Maine following a seemingly random foster placement. However, nothing is what it seems, except for the fact that it looks like the Dark Curse will be undone a decade or so earlier than intended. AU, teen!Emma, Charming family feels (eventually).
1. The Swan Girl

_At sixteen, Emma Swan decides between a one way ticket to a nowhere town called Storybrooke, and carjacking a yellow bug. The choice is made, and an entirely different story spawns from it._

_(or, Emma finds her parents as a teenager and breaks the curse a decade or so early.)_

chapter one: meet emma

In front of the window of a small, dim bedroom in a house in Detroit, Emma Swan sat in her pajamas, a bowl of cocoa puffs sitting her lap, and a book tucked into the seat next to her, a page dog-eared somewhat resentfully by its current owner.

She _had_ been reading – or at least attempting to. Shakespeare wasn't her cup of tea, thank you very much, but Hamlet was required reading for sophomores, and she'd hate to stir up trouble by declaring a revolution at this stage: the last thing she needed was another reason for the Fairchilds to resent her. Her newest foster family of a month and a half were a surprisingly stodgy bunch for people who lived in _Detroit _of all places. Emma had already managed to irritate them with her late night habits, such as eating sugary cereals, and her somewhat reclusive, backtalk-y nature (those were exactly Marion Fairchild's words, too, though Emma considered 'private' and 'witty' more suitable adjectives). Emma was there with two others; Sam, the little golden boy, and Glory, who was only two years older than Emma at seventeen, and far more rebellious than Emma had ever been, which was saying something.

She still wasn't entirely sure why the Fairchilds had taken in another child (she couldn't imagine it was simply to have one more person to disapprove of) but Emma had learned not to look too deeply into things if everything was going alright. She had a bedroom to herself, hot meals, and to be perfectly honest, if compared to some of the other families she'd lived with, the Fairchilds positively spoiled the kids in their care.

It was nearing ten o'clock, so Emma hurriedly drank down the rest of her chocolatey cereal, leaving the bowl on the desk, and cracking her neck as she stood up from her chair and closed the curtains. The house was quiet, but everyone around here went to bed early – like, nine o'clock early. Emma wasn't an early bird by any stretch of the imagination, but she forced herself to switch the lights off and slide under the covers anyway, shifting to her side to stare at the window aimlessly.

Things were okay. Good, even. This was probably the best she'd had since six or seven years old, even. That was ten years full of less than good before she had finally now caught something like a break. Sighing, Emma rolled onto her back. The sight of peeling paint greeted her from the ceiling.

No matter how hard she tried, for as long as she could remember Emma was never able to shake the feeling of emptiness. It was akin to loneliness, but it went deeper than that: it was right down to her bones, reminding her every day that she hadn't been wanted, that she'd been dumped by the wayside – literally – in a blanket with a name stitched onto it, and shoved into an endless shuffle of houses and faces and bad, _bad _experiences. The good would light her up sometimes; some people went out of their way to befriend her, to share some happiness with her, and Emma would eagerly accept, indulging the part of her that wanted to experience those silly things that kids or teenagers did, but it always faded away, leaving her with a backpack, a different bedroom, and a lump in her throat at the end of it.

It was mostly hard, and rarely fun. The anger towards her faceless, nameless birth parents was there, but it was far overpowered by the hurt – Emma had long since accepted that no matter how old she got, there would be a corner of her heart that was a little blond girl wondering _why _she didn't have two parents and goodnight kisses and hot chocolate on snow days.

But if she wondered that consciously, every day, she'd drive herself insane.

Yawning, Emma shut her eyes. Things were good, and she would smile.


	2. Ordinary Days

The bell signaling the end of the school day rang out shrilly, and eleven elementary school students stood up quickly, shoving books and coloring pages into backpacks, talking animatedly amongst one another.

Mary Margaret Blanchard leaned against her desk, surveying her classroom with a smile. ''Remember, guys – I want you to start thinking about your poems. Think of something that makes you happy, and just immerse yourself in the writing.''

A few of the kids nodded, and waved their goodbyes, loud voices carrying into the hall where the rest of the school was getting ready to leave. The door closed behind little Paige, who called out a happy "see you Monday, Miss Blanchard!'' at Mary Margaret, who was stacking a thin pile of papers into a folder to take home and grade.

A small smile played at her lips as she skimmed over the top essay – the topic had been favorite pets, and her kids' essays were almost always a treat to read – before tucking the folder into her purse, and shrugging her sweater on. The weather outside was mild, as was always the case in Storybrooke, so she hadn't bothered with a coat.

Locking the door behind her, Mary Margaret set off through the now nearly empty halls of the school, emerging into the tepid air outside and taking off a leisurely pace towards her apartment, only a ten minute walk away, as was almost everything in Storybrooke.

She couldn't really say what had drawn her to this town; a combination of circumstance and old habits, she supposed. Hazy memories floated to her of summers spent in a small town, and...well, how did the saying go? 'You could take the girl out of the small town but you can't take the small town out of the girl'? Yes, that was it. Cliché, but it brought a smile to her lips nonetheless.

Yes, life in Storybrooke was pleasant enough. The people were friendly, with a few exceptions, and Mary Margaret had her routine, which carried her through life easily enough. She woke every morning, stopped into Granny's for her now well-known order of hot chocolate (with cinnamon, always cinnamon), taught her beloved class at the school, and left the school at three each day, waving hello to a few faces on her walk, before arriving home and cooking dinner for one, and retiring to bed early.

Not the most exciting, she supposed, but it was nice. Quiet, predictable, and safe. All things Mary Margaret valued in life. There was little doubt that Storybrooke was where she was meant to be, at least for now, and that was the thought that comforted her whenever the wanderlust hit her out of nowhere, a strange longing for something she couldn't quite put her finger on, as if she were wishing for somewhere she had been long ago.

Regardless, it was where she was, and as she unlocked the door the apartment, Mary Margaret trained her thoughts to more everyday topics – there was chicken in the freezer, but should she cook it, or splurge for a pizza...


	3. Changes

**And so we begin. Still a kind of short chapter but I swear I'll make them longer as we get further past the setups. I do have one question for you guys: would you rather have David be in a coma (aka, follow canon) or not? I'm slightly leaning towards having him up and about but I want to know what you guys think. Let me know, and thank you for all the reviews/follows/favorites!  
**

* * *

_Seven and a half months later_

"Emma? You all packed?''

A tint of disbelief colored the woman's tone, for which Emma couldn't entirely fault her – one backpack full of crap wasn't exactly the sight most people expected whenever she turned up, but Emma had never been one for trinkets. Few things were sacred to her and they were in the backpack. Extra things she'd learned to let go of early – jewelry had never been given to her, toys weren't especially sentimental, and clothes required money, which was something Emma rarely had, and so every outfit she owned fit easily into the worn bag, along with basic toiletries, a tube of mascara, and the old, somewhat gross looking baby blanket she'd had since she had first come into existence; the one she had been found in, laying on the cold, damp side of a highway all those years ago. Talk about sentimental value.

''Yeah, I'm good.'' Backpack slung over her shoulder, and outfit combination number four being worn – faded jeans and an old INXS t-shirt, paired with the only pair of boots she owned – Emma smiled at the caseworker- Amanda- who offered a tentative grin back and opened the backseat door of the van.

Another school year, another house – at least she'd spent the entirety of sophomore year in one place, which was a rare treat. She'd even made a couple of friends, though they had, as almost always happened, fallen out of touch sometime around February – finals week, away games, and Emma's own distance nature having had a hand in the fading of friendship.

She did wish she could know where she was headed to next. Hopefully it would be better than inner city Detroit, anyway. Suburbs could be nice, condos as well. Maybe she would go further south, where it was warmer. In her experience, they always managed to keep her on the same side of the country, if not the same state, as though that somehow made up for being shoved around like a meal ticket, which happened far too many times for Emma to count.

And then there were the group homes. God, how she hated the group homes. Loud, strange smelling, and headed by stressed out and generally regretful foster parents, who clearly had no idea what they were in for by taking in a half dozen troubled children of varying ages.

Amanda didn't try to make small talk, for which Emma was grateful. Small talk had never been her thing, and she was far from in the mood to try. Instead, she just stared out at the passing scenery, dismal Detroit growing more and more distant as the minutes passed. They were driving down to Chicago, where she'd been evaluated and shipped off somewhere else. If only she knew where somewhere else was.

''Emma, how do you feel about Maine?''

A pause. It was the first thing either had said since entering the car twenty minutes ago. Emma blinked slowly. ''I...don't. I mean, I guess it's fine.''

''Good.'' Amanda the caseworker's eyes flicked briefly to the rearview mirror, and Emma could see the wheels turning. ''Good.''

Hm. Emma could deal with Maine – anything but Detroit, anyway. The city was grating on her.

_Storybrooke_

It was rare that anyone ever came in to the pawnshop – so rare, in fact, that it was a mystery why the place was still in business at all.

But that was Storybrooke – so many questions, and even more vague, murky explanations.

''_Well, all the paperwork is in order, Mr. Gold. Emma's in Detroit at the moment, I'm just on my way to pick her up – we're going to fly over from Chicago. We'll most likely arrive tomorrow afternoon sometime.''_

''That's wonderful news, Miss Hayes. Everything's in order at this end as well – Emma's room is ready and waiting for her, as am I.''

_''That's perfect, Mr. Gold. I'll call you when our plane lands in Boston.''_

''Alright, dear. Speak to you soon.''

He ended the call with a beep and inhaled deeply, exhaling the breath loudly in the silence of the shop before smiling widely.

Mr. Gold was having an excellent day. For one, the weather had shifted.

He wasn't one to mindlessly blot out and ignore the repetitive nature of life in Storybrooke; on the contrary, he was perfectly aware of it. More so now that the Swan girl was on her way to the town. Mr. Gold had always remembered life beyond Storybrooke, having tucked memories deep into the back corners of his mind, almost impossible be to wiped or tampered with by anything, even a curse as dark as the one holding the entire town in Maine. But her name – Emma's – had broken a dam. Where once there had been blank spots, or dulled, blurry scraps of recollection, Rumplestilskin remembered it all.

He could only assume that the Mayor knew nothing of his recent awakening. If she did, she would have kicked the door in and rained hell down around them – Regina had always been one for the grand and scary.

But much to his delight, he had something over her – something she had no idea of, yet. Mr. Gold was opening his home to miscreant teenager Emma Swan, who had bounced around the foster system for years now. He was giving her a stable home and a town full of friendly people to interact with.

Including her actual parents, and all the people who were, essentially, a part of her would-be kingdom.

And Regina couldn't do a _thing _about it, that was the best part. As long as Mr. Gold stayed Mr. Gold, no one need know anything for just a little while longer. Emma could settle herself, he could introduce the idea of magic into her life, and then she'd break the curse, reunite with her parents, and he would be free to find Bae, wherever he was.

All while making the Evil Queen angrier and more powerless than ever. It was, truly, a win-win for both Gold and, though she did not know it yet, Emma.

The kettle on the stove whistled, and Gold smirked as he poured hot water into a cup of Earl Grey, and promptly dunked a biscuit into the liquid, munching on it thoughtfully. Things were already in motion. The clearing of the omnipresent Storybrooke clouds and cold outside was testament to that. Another few days and it might even get hot enough for a thunderstorm.


	4. The Way Back Home

''Storybrooke?''

The skepticism must have echoed clearly through the single word, for Amanda pursed her lips and nodded. ''It's quite cute, actually. I only saw a few pictures that Mr. Gold – that's who you'll be staying with – sent me. It's by the coast, and _very_ picturesque.''

''Picturesque?'' Emma sighed, shaking her head. ''Does it have an airport?''

''No.''

''Train?''

''No.''

''_Bus system?''_

''...possibly.''

The plane gave a shudder as it gained altitude, and Emma directed her attention back to the crossword puzzle in her lap – a gift from Amanda at a small airport gift shop. The flight to Boston was only two and a half hours but Emma had the feeling that the quieter she was during that time, the better of a mood Amanda would be in.

The mysterious Mr. Gold had apparently given concise directions to his rather remote mansion – only a short walk out of town, Amanda had relayed to Emma – and was to be waiting up for them when they arrived late that night. It wasn't the first time that Emma had lived with no other children, but it was the first time that only one person had wanted to take her in – usually it was couples looking to fill a void or do something good for the world. This Mr. Gold appeared to have no ulterior motives, and no reason for needing a mere meal ticket: he was rich, owned a small antique store in an even smaller town, and simply wanted to open a bedroom to a teenaged girl with nowhere else to go. That kind of charity was rare, in Emma's experience, and she couldn't help but wonder just why he was doing it.

It was entirely possible that Emma would be horrified by the small town. The only experience she had with them was via movies and television shows, never real life, and she couldn't imagine successfully flying very far under the radar in a town with less than a thousand people, whose local rich guy had just basically adopted her.

Though life hadn't exactly thrown her a lot of good, there was still a tiny part of Emma that was holding out hope – maybe this one would be it. Maybe she'd be able to stay for two years, happy, until her eighteenth birthday. Maybe she would never have to leave for another room, or another state, again. It was a nice thought.

Emma closed her eyes, the plane's engine lulling her into a doze, and allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to truly _live_ somewhere.

They landed in Boston amidst a rather intense thunderstorm, and Emma was still jittery, even nearly an hour and a half after collecting her backpack, which was currently seated next to her in the backseat of a rented car.

Amanda hummed softly to the oldies station playing, and Emma stared out at the rainy, dismal scenery that made up the forest of Maine. They were long since out of Boston and each town they passed through seemed to get smaller and smaller, until the only things they were passing were random houses and more trees than Emma had ever seen in her life.

''How long of a drive is it?''

''Five hours,'' was the clipped reply, and Emma hunkered down in her seat, sighing. Four and half more to go. Storybrooke had better have _something _for her.

_Storybrooke_

''He's still out, Miss Blanchard.''

''Thank you, doctor Whale.''

Mary Margaret didn't come to the hospital weekly. It was all very sporadic – the need for volunteers increased and decreased with time, but as they entered into June, Whale had put the word out again, and of course Mary Margaret was first on the list of willing helpers.

Although volunteering gave her a good sense of accomplishment, especially doing so in a place where so much darkness was held, she would be lying if she said there weren't ulterior motives.

Or motive, rather. One motive, lying prone in the bed as he had been for as long as anyone could remember. The John Doe of Storybrooke, pale and wan, but still handsome, hooked up to machines whose rhythms never faltered, as his heart rate never wavered, nor his brain activity.

John Doe was in a coma. A deep, deep coma, from which it seemed nothing would wake him. As far as Mary Margaret knew, no one came to visit him, and so she couldn't imagine why Whale hadn't made the executive decision and pulled the plug, so to speak, but she was glad he hadn't, for reasons she could not quite pinpoint.

Each time she was at the hospital, without fail, she was in his room for at least half an hour, sitting in the chair she pulled up by the bed, and reading something of a bedtime story to him. John Doe never responded, but it hadn't yet stopped her from coming in. Her literature of choice varied – sometimes it was some old Russian tome, others it was simply Austen or Bronte, or even poetry. It all depended on her mood. This was a Bronte kind of day. Jane Eyre had sat on her bookshelf for months, untouched, until earlier that afternoon when she had tucked it into her bag on a whim just before her departure for the hospital.

''I used to love this book, I think,'' Mary Margaret spoke quietly, tracing a finger over the cover as she pulled a chair near the bed and sat down. ''When I was younger...middle school, maybe.''

The only sounds came from the deep breathing of the man in the bed and the occasional soft beep of machines.

And so Mary Margaret read. It was a quarter to ten when Dr. Whale poked his head into the room, informing her that visiting hours were over and she had to wrap it up in five minutes – strictly, visiting hours had been over since nine, but Whale had a soft spot for her. Or, at least, her figure. With Whale it was hard to tell.

''I'll come back soon,'' she promised the man in the bed, neatly bookmarking the page she was on and tucking the book back into her bag. ''A few weeks, maybe. I wonder if you can hear me at all...''

Sighing, Mary Margaret reached out to brush the top of his cool hand, and was just about to turn around and scoot the chair back to the corner when she distinctly felt the man's hand shift, moving so that his hand was loosely covering hers.

_''I will always find you, Snow.''_

The image of a man dressed in medieval clothing flashed across her mind, and Mary Margaret felt her stomach lurch a little – _Snow. _The man's face had been blurred, but he was _so familiar..._

''Oh my – Dr. Whale!''

She hadn't meant to shriek quite so loudly, but her heart was pounding, and her eyes scanning the face of the man, who hadn't moved anything else, though his hand still rested on top of hers.

''He – he moved,'' she said aloud, testing the words out. This man, who had been lying here for _years_, probably before even Mary Margaret had moved here – god, how long ago had _that _been? - had just moved his entire hand.

''Mary Margaret?!''

Whale came through the door and skidded to a halt, eyes wide. ''I heard you scream,'' he said warily, clearly confused as to why there was no apparent life threatening occurring within the small room.

''Doctor, he moved his hand.''

A moment's pause filled the room. Whale arched a brow. ''Mary Margaret, this man is comatose.''

''I know it sounds insane,'' she hastened to assure him, shaking her head and looking back down at the bed, ''but I swear – look, his hand's over mine. I touched his hand and he _moved_.''

Whale made a small humming sound, and began looking over the various screens. Mary Margaret bit her lip, gently twitching her hand, and feeling her heart sink when she moved it from beneath the man's, and nothing happened.

''Sorry, Mary Margaret,'' Whale said, sounding almost truly apologetic, ''but there's nothing here.''

''That's okay. It was probably just me – I'm a bit tired, I should go home.''

''Yes,'' Whale agreed, turning off the overhead light and opening the door to the room, ''get some rest. We'll see you in a couple weeks.''

Shouldering her bag, Mary Margaret followed him from the room, glancing back only once as she crossed through the doorway. The room was dimly lit now, and the man still rested peacefully against the pillows.

Just a trick of the mind, she supposed. Who 'Snow' was, and why the name sounded so...right, Mary Margaret didn't know, but the man's blurred face haunted her the entire way home, and in her strange, nonsensical dreams all night.


	5. The First Day (of the rest of your life)

The home that Mr. Gold had been (for lack of a better word) given sixteen years ago was large. Far too large for one man, just as Rumplestilskin's castle had been. But he was rather glad that it was so enormous, for he was able to pick a bedroom at random and designate it as Emma Swan's. It was one the second floor, down a few doors, just private enough to make her feel comfortable but not so far away as to make him have to climb a million flights of stairs to get to her, if need be.

On the particular evening that Emma was to arrive her caseworker in tow Rumplestilskin was as close to nervous as the Dark One was capable of being. The last adolescent he'd ever been anything resembling 'nurturing' towards was Baelfire, what seemed like an eternity ago. Hell, it _was _an eternity ago.

Now he was faced with a girl a teenaged one, no less. If her parents were anything to go by, Swan would be a spirited one. Powerful, too; a product of true love, the purest of magics. He'd assess that later, however, _after _she'd settled and he'd gained a modicum of her trust. A difficult feat, most likely, made so by the horrors she'd endured whilst in the foster system. Rumplestilskin wasn't a good man by any stretch of the imagination, but there were some lines even _he _wouldn't cross, and most of them were contained within Emma's personal file.

Regardless of the girl's past, they were both going to have to focus on the future. Finding his son and leaving this miserable, magic-less realm was high on his list of priorities, and he harbored no qualms about using a sixteen year old child to gain what he wanted mostly because his interested directly coincided with someone else's for the first time in a while, and Swan would gain her happy ending as much as he was.

The kettle was on, keeping the water for tea gently warming, while three cups sat waiting on the counter. If there was one thing Gold was good at, it was tea. The liquid stuff simply seemed to assist in any situation, and he doubted this would be the exception.

At nearly ten o'clock in Storybrooke there wasn't exactly a lot of traffic, let alone on the remote little road Gold's home resided on. And so when headlights gleamed through the darkness outside, flashing across the windows and casting strange shadows across the rooms, Gold knew it was time. Taking a breath, he stood from his seat at the large kitchen table, wincing as his knee throbbed, and straightened his jacket as the car door slammed from outside.

Were Emma less on edge, she might have fallen asleep on the car ride through the seemingly endless forest. Once the remote houses and occasional rest stops ended, there was nothing but dark, winding road bordered by tall and imposing trees. With the rain pouring down on them it was the very definition of a 'dark and stormy night', made even more so by the old fashioned looking sign that seemed to come out of nowhere alongside the road.

_Welcome to Storybrooke, _it read, in a large, swirling font, and Emma sat up straighter, pressing her face against the window in order to see more clearly.

''I think we're here,'' Amanda said from the driver's seat, slowing down as they passed a few houses.

Town came upon them very suddenly where there had been nothing but trees and darkness just seconds ago, there was suddenly a stoplight, blinking in the darkness, and they were turning onto a long street. Main street, by the looks of it some shops had lighted windows, mannequins resting in the display, others had porchlights illuminating the doorways and signs. A repair garage, a diner, a bakery...all of it normal, all vacant. The clock tower they passed had stopped working: its hands displayed eight fifteen, whereas Emma knew it was well past ten.

The buildings dwindled as quickly as they had began appearing, and Amanda signaled for a left turn into a secluded driveway. The house at the end of it was lit, porch lights and inside lights, and a single car was parked outside of it.

''We're here.''

The car engine turned off, and the rain splashing to the roof was much more audible. Amanda opened her car door, wincing as the downpour immediately began to soak through her blouse.

Emma grabbed her backpack and slide across the seat, opening the door and rolling her neck around as she stepped from the car, staring with mild trepidation up at the house it had to be three stories, plus an attic, even. So large for someone without a family.

Amanda was making a mad dash for the shelter of the porch, and Emma followed, stomach churning as she saw the front door begin to open, and a man step onto the porch, shaking Amanda's offered hand with the only one of his not holding a cane.

''Yes, we found it perfectly,'' Amanda was saying, ''it looks very nice.''

''It's quite lovely, when we aren't subjected to this downpour,'' Mr. Gold said easily, shifting his eyes away from Amanda's as Emma stepped up onto the porch. ''You must be Emma. Please, come inside, both of you. It's far too cold out here.''

He retreated, and they followed, Emma keeping her hands safely tucked in her pockets as she traipsed in. The entryway was no less impressive than the rest of the house it was large, roomy, and open, a table with a vase of flowers to one side, and a set of coat-hooks along the opposite wall.

''I have some tea on,'' Gold announced, leading them towards a stairway with his limping gait, ''but I'll show you to your room first. I'm sure you're tired.''

''A little,'' Emma offered, ''thanks.''

Second floor, a few doors down. The door was already open and Emma stepped into the room, blinking as the overhead light was flicked on. The sight of a queen sized bed, plus a desk, closet, bookshelf, and window seat greeted her, and she was momentarily shocked the only time she'd ever occupied a room this big was with another girl, and they had had twin beds. This was...

''It's very nice,'' Emma said, sliding her backpack off of her shoulder and turning around slowly, taking it all in. ''Roomy.''

''I do hope you find it comfortable. You can choose a difference comforter, if you like the green seemed a safe choice for the time being.''

Indeed it was a rich, almost forest green duvet adorned the bed, which had at least four pillows piled upon it.

For once in her life, Emma was lost for words. It was a rare occasion indeed when she couldn't come up with something, however awkward or deprecating, to say, but it was the sheer fact that she had a _bedroom _in a home in a harmless town, a room that had clearly been waiting for her, planned for her, that was overwhelming, to say the least.

''You're tired, I'm sure,'' Gold continued, and Emma turned back to face the doorway. ''we'll just let you settle in. There's tea downstairs, you can bring it up here if you'd prefer.''

''No, I'll I'll come down. I'm just gonna take a minute...'' A minute to what? Emma didn't know. But Gold nodded, apparently satisfied, and withdrew from the room, pulling Amanda with him and engaging her in a conversation that faded as they descended the stairs.

Emma exhaled the breath she'd been holding for what seemed like forever, and moved to take a seat on the bed. It was soft, and the comforter was as plushy and thick as it looked. She spread her hands over the soft satiny fabric and felt an incredible fatigue wash over her, despite the fact that she'd been seated in a car for over four hours.

Gold had said there was tea downstairs. Emma had to bid Amanda goodbye anyway, so there wasn't a real chance for her to just curl up in bed right then and sleep for a good ten hours or so. Heaving herself up again, she shrugged her coat off, leaving it on the end of the bed before opening the bedroom door again tentatively. The smell of herbal tea wafted up, and voices could be heard from what Emma assumed to be the living room that she'd passed so briefly on her way up.

Now or never. She began to descend the stairs carefully, taking in the house around her. It wasn't as heavily decorated as one might expect an older house to be; there were a couple of paintings placed along the walls, but no family photos. The wallpaper was tasteful and lush, and a neat pad of paper was placed next to a phone that sat on a table beside the stairs. The carpet was clean, the lighting warm and inviting, and there seriously appeared to be nothing wrong with the place, unless there were bodies hiding in the basement or in the walls or something. Emma snorted at her own train of thought, shaking her head as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

''You have my number both of them. This one is my cell, the other's the office. If you have any trouble, or questions, all you have to do is call.''

As if Emma was a problem kid, or something it wasn't like she was going to set fire to the guy's curtains or something.

''Miss Swan seems like a lovely girl. I think we'll get on quite well.''

Gold sounded as though he had a lot of experience in reassuring people, the smooth talker. Though it was nice to hear that she had made a good enough impression, at least.

The grandfather clock propped against a wall was just a few minutes shy of chiming on the hour, and Emma stifled a yawn with her arm.

''Well, I should head out.''

''Are you certain you don't want to stay for the night? There's plenty of room.''

''Oh, no, I couldn't do that. I have to be in DC by noon tomorrow, so it's going to be a long trip. I'd better start now.''

''At least let me brew you some coffee wouldn't want you drifting across lanes from exhaustion, eh?''

They shared a small chuckle as Emma entered the room. Amanda was standing, and Gold was turning the corner into the kitchen.

''Now, Emma,'' Amanda began as the clattering of cups and movement in the kitchen ensued, ''I want you to be happy. Do you like it here?''

Did she like it here? Small town USA was never Emma's forte. But this Mr. Gold was a little weird, and Emma found herself drawn to him...and would could two years hurt, anyway? Unless he turned out to be a serial murderer or women hater of some kind.

''Yeah, I think it's nice.''

Amanda smiled. ''You'll make friends soon, too. School starts for you on Monday. I've told Mr. Gold how independent you are, and while I'm sure you'll talk about rules very soon, he seems like a very accommodating man.''

Er, good? Maybe? Emma nodded for lack of any other response. Amanda patted her shoulder.

''You'll do fine here.''

''Here you are, dearie.'' Gold entered the room once again, holding a small Styrofoam cup of steaming liquid. ''you're sure you don't want a room?''

''Oh, no,'' Amanda said, sipping at the coffee with a small sigh. ''I've really got to be going. Mr Gold, thank you.''

''No, thank _you_, dear.'' Clasping her hand in both of his, Gold smiled. ''This house is far too big for just one.''

''I'm sure you'll both enjoy it. I'll speak to you in two weeks, Emma.'' Kissing her cheek pretty unexpectedly, too, Emma hadn't seen that one coming -, Amanda shrugged her coat on and picked up her coffee. ''Goodnight, you two.''

Emma and Gold's goodbyes mingled together as Amanda gave them one last little wave before stepping out into the pouring rain, and closing the door behind her.

''Are you hungry, Miss Swan?''

Shaking her head, Emma watched Amanda's headlights disappear out onto the road. ''No, thank you. I'm a little tired, actually.''

''Oh, yes, of course. By all means, get some rest. The drive was long, and I'm sure you've had quite the day. I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook, so how would you like breakfast in town tomorrow?''

''That's fine,'' Emma replied, sticking her hands in her pockets. ''I'm not much of a cook either, actually.''

''I can boil water, but I believe that to be the extent of my abilities in the kitchen,'' Gold said with a wry smile.

Emma snorted. ''Yeah, I hear you.''

''Granny's is usually the place to be here. Let's say, around nine?''

''Sounds good, Mr. Gold.''

''Sleep well then, Emma.''

Smiling and waving at him goodnight, Emma turned and ascended the stairs again, slumping briefly against her bedroom door as she closed it behind her.

What a day. Emma's exhaustion grew the longer she stood, until she was practically falling into bed after brushing her teeth and turning the overhead light off. Yawning, she curled up on her side, facing the bookshelf on the wall. It was almost bare, as she'd thought upon first glance, but six books rested on it most looked as if they were merely resting there as a result of Mr. Gold running out of room on another bookshelf, although one in particular looked out of place among the other thick, dark colored tomes: Emma squinted in the dim light to see the spine of the book, and she could just barely make out the glittering letters: _Once Upon a Time_.

Huh. She hadn't pegged Gold as the fairytale type.

Flopping over onto her back, Emma felt sleep taking her, and any thoughts of the book were forgotten as she slipped into dreamless slumber.


	6. Dr Whale (paging doctor love)

**Two chapters in less than two days? Savor it, for the inspiration comes and goes – it's out of my control. Thanks for all the favorites, follows, and reviews! Specifically, I wanted to address a couple of reviews left by guest(s?) – Neal will make an appearance but though I am also a Swanfire fan, we've got a Captain Swan endgame for this particular fic. And yes, Emma's a little leery of Gold. They'll be buddies, though – despite the fact that he's an asshole, Gold does have a soft spot (sometimes) and it'll show through a little. And yes, I am making the curse work a little differently – it hasn't been the exact same day repeating for 28 years, but rather the same week (ish). So there's a little more variety to what the residents are doing, but everyone is still stuck in stasis. And no, I'm not doing the whole Kathryn arc for this fic – I didn't really like it in the show, and I am going to endeavor to make David Nolan a little less irritating and more likeable than he is in canon. **

**Anyway, on with the story!**

* * *

The moment that Dr. Whale entered the hospital - at around six Thursday morning – he knew it was just going to be one of those days.

Granny's coffee maker was on the fritz. Whale could not think of a single time, ever, when that had happened, and he'd lived in Storybrooke for...well. A long time. He was a regular customer at the diner, needless to say, and even Ruby's normally ever-present smirk was gone as she broke away from an irate looking man at the counter to tell him that there would not be any coffee, and yes, she was sure, and also sorry.

What was Whale going to do? Pitch a fit? He merely nodded, before any opportunity he might have had to say anything was taken by the growly voice of the angry counter guy. Leroy, Whale thought his name was – a miner, or construction worker, or something. Regardless, Whale had had to resort to the hospital cafeteria sludge in place of his regular cup of coffee, and was already feeling the headache building.

''Morning, Jaina,'' he greeted the new nurse, offering her a wink as he passed her station. ''How are - ''

From where he'd clipped it on his waist, his pager began beeping unexpectedly at an inhuman pitch, causing him to slosh hot coffee down his hand in alarm, narrowly missing his white coat. ''Damn it,'' he snarled, groping blindly for the stupid thing with the hand that wasn't being burnt by hot liquid. It took a good five seconds to locate it and hit the button that made the beeping stop, but that wasn't the end of it – oh, no.

''_Doctor!''_ His head nurse's voice pierced through the tinny speaker, barely pausing for breath as she started up. ''_Doctor Whale, you're needed in the LTC wing, stat – we've got...well, that coma patient. The John Doe. He's awake.''_

Now, Whale had seen a lot during his time in the medical field – a lot of strange, painful, _weird _shit, but clearly he was losing his touch or something because at the words 'coma patient' and 'awake' he'd nearly spat out what little coffee he hadn't burnt himself with and was already halfway down the corridor, finishing the last of the horrid tar in a few hot, burning gulps before pitching the flimsy cup in a random trash can and thwacking the elevator button as hard as he could.

What a morning. Whale stared at the red patch on his hand where he had spilled his coffee. His only coma patient was awake – awake after, what, fifteen years? Longer? It had been a _long _time, and the only reason no one had pulled the plug was because of the Mayor. Regina Mills had a will as strong as iron, and Whale knew that while her eyes may have been brimming with tears at the thought of simply letting the John Doe fade away, she'd more than gladly take Whale down more than a few pegs if he dared do it anyway.

And so, John Doe slept, still breathing against all odds, pale as a ghost in room two twenty five. God, Whale was not looking forward to this mess.

The elevator dinged and he stepped off, striding purposefully down the hall and only slowing when the room's door was in sight. Already, voices could be heard from inside, and Whale took a moment to breath, bracing himself, before opening the door.

Honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised to see Regina there. Of course she'd be there. It was only his patient in his hospital, and six o clock in the fucking morning, why _wouldn't _she be there?

''Good morning, Mayor Mills,'' Whale said, smiling warmly at the woman who appeared to be going toe-to-toe with the nurse, if their equally hateful expressions were anything to go by. ''And hello, Mr. Doe. How are you feeling?''

John Doe was sitting up in bed, looking at the mayor and nurse as though he wasn't entirely sure whether or not he wanted to get in the middle of whatever they were fighting about. Whale couldn't blame him.

''I'm, uh...fine. I guess. I feel good.''

His voice was scratchy, as if he'd only just woken from an eight hour nap rather than a decade plus one.

''Do you know who you are?''

The thing was, Doe had turned up out of nowhere – it couldn't have been too long after Whale himself started working at the hospital. Mayor Mills had found a body at the side of the road on her way into town, and upon further inspection, no one seemed to know what to make of him. No ID, and not a single person in town came forward to claim him, though there had been a spread in the paper for weeks with his photo in it – if anyone did know him, they'd kept quiet about it.

''Doctor, this man is clearly traumatized,'' Regina began before Doe could even open his mouth, ''he hasn't even been awake for an hour and already he's being interrogated!''

Summing his patience, Whale opted for his most placating, soothing voice as he turned towards Regina. ''Mayor, as head physician I am obligated to care for this man, both physically and mentally. I cannot do my job if I don't have some basic information - ''

''I was hoping that I could have a moment with him,'' Regina said, effectively cutting Whale off mid sentence, and offering him a small smile. ''I – well, I suppose I feel a connection to him...all those years ago, we were all so young, and I _was_ the one to find him...''

''My name is David.''

If one were to go by only the expression on Regina Mills' face, they would have assumed someone had just aired a nasty bit of gossip about her, or told her that she smelled less than sweet. However, Doe – David's – four words appeared to be enough to provide much the same reaction as either of the above scenarios might. Whale could have watched Regina's poorly concealed sneers all morning – they provided a mild form of entertainment from time to time- but professionalism called him, and he angled himself towards his patient, grabbing a clipboard from a table near the bed, and arching a brow. ''Just David?''

''Nolan. David Nolan. I'm...I live here. In...''

''Storybrooke?'' Whale supplied, after a few moments of silence passed. ''What's the last thing you remember, Mr. Nolan?''

Brow furrowing, David stared at the bedspread, seemingly lost in thought. ''I - I don't know, I remember the cold, and some kind of _rushing _noise, like wind, or -''

''The cars on the road,'' Regina inserted helpfully, flicking her eyes between David and Whale. ''I found you, David. On the side of the road, unconscious.''

''Road?'' Frowning, David looked up at Whale. Already his eyes were sharp and alert, and there was something about them that made Whale linger – this man was questioning the Mayor. Somewhere along the line, their stories didn't match up. Whale wondered if David would divulge anything more with Regina in the room, subtly editing his every word as he spoke.

''Yes, David. I brought you straight here, and you haven't woken since. Until now, that is.''

''Mayor Mills,'' Whale cut in, scrawling a few things onto his clipboard before replacing it on the table. ''It's been a...hectic morning for Mr. Nolan. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave so that he can get some rest.''

Regina looked as though she were going to fight it. Honestly, Whale hoped she wouldn't; it was early, and the lack of coffee really was getting to his head.

To his surprise, she merely nodded, and stood, coat slung over her arm. ''I'll stop by again later,'' she promised, leaning down to place a hand on David's shoulder and look into his eyes. ''Get some rest, take it easy.''

David nodded once, and Regina departed with a final soft smile in his direction.

''Nurse, can you get me some applesauce? Oatmeal would be good too, and water, of course.''

As the nurse left, Whale took the opportunity to pull up a seat near the bed, sitting down, and contemplating David quietly. ''So, Mr. Nolan. You don't remember anything other than a rushing noise?''

''Was that...the Mayor?''

Whale nodded. ''Indeed. Our own Mayor Mills. Longest in office that we've ever had anyone. I think she was just starting out around the time you got here.''

''When was that?''

''Oh...ten years, thirteen? Quite some time. You've been asleep for years, David. Do you remember having any family here?''

Slowly, David shook his head. ''I think – I mean, I don't remember them here. I don't really remember _here_, Storybrooke. It's like a dream.''

The more he spoke, the more troubled David was beginning to look, and so, wisely, Whale stood, pushing the chair back to the corner.

''I know you've been in this bed a while, but I need you to eat, and then rest. Your body hasn't been mobile for far too long, and it's going to take a bit of time for you to recuperate.''

What was it...Thursday? Friday? It had been a little while now since Mary Margaret Blanchard had been by. Not since she'd claimed David's hand had moved, which had to have been at least a week ago. Hm – interesting. Had that been the first sign of movement? A prelude to today? Whale felt a small prick of guilt at his skepticism towards Mary Margaret. He'd have to make it up to her somehow. Maybe now was the time to ask her for dinner at Granny's...

Shaking his head from his thoughts, Whale made for the doorway. ''The nurse will bring you up a tray. I'm going to go pull some files and look into a few things, you just stay here. Eat, doze, think back. I'll be in to check on you later.''

Tucking his pen back into his pocket, Whale offered one last patented reassuring smile to his patient, before leaving in search of the records room. _Nolan, David._ He'd have to see exactly what had been put on that file all those years ago – there was more to David Nolan than met the eye. He remembered more than just what he was saying, Whale could tell. What it was he remembered, however, remained to be seen.

* * *

Regina's heels clicked against the cold, leaf strewn concrete, and her trademark scowl had been affixed to her face for at least five minutes now. That insolent slug, Whale – he was going to poke. And meddle, and ask questions that didn't need to be asked, not now, not after all this time. Sixteen years, and all of the sudden Storybrooke's resident prince wakes up from the nap of his life.

It was all just too strange.

And Regina had sworn she'd seen headlights late last night – too late for anyone in Storybrooke to be driving around. Perhaps it had just been a trick of the light. But it was all too unsettling in conjunction with the morning's events.

Rounding the corner to the main street, Regina contemplated breakfast – it was nearing seven AM, and coffee was sounding better and better by the moment.

And as though leaving the newly awakened Prince Charming alone in the hospital with Whale wasn't a bad enough start to the morning, a loud tolling began, very suddenly, from somewhere above Regina's head.

If she were a lesser citizen she may have panicked. Or, if the morning hadn't been going the way it was, she might have been confused.

But no. Oh, no, Regina Mills wasn't confused. She was cycling somewhere between fury and horror, frozen still on the sidewalk, eyes fixed on the clock tower across the street.

The clock tower whose clock hadn't worked in...well, sixteen years.

The clock tower whose clock had just chimed seven AM.

''Oh, dear,'' Regina murmured, the subtle shaking in her voice belaying the seemingly serene words. Yes, this could be a problem, indeed.

* * *

A mere few blocks away, Emma Swan woke to the sound of distant but loud chiming, drowsy from where she was buried in a soft bed with a thick duvet covering her. Was it going to be that loud _every _morning? It chimed for the seventh time, and somewhere in her mind, Emma was vaguely curious. Hadn't that clock been off last night? Oh, god – was she going to oversleep on her first day in a new home? As if on cue, the grandfather clock she'd seen in the hall downstairs chimed seven consecutive times, putting to rest the rapidly building panic in her chest.

Yawning, Emma turned her back to the window, closing her eyes. One more hour, and she was up – it was still far too early for her to think yet.


	7. Put your hands into the fire

**Hey guys I promised I wouldn't abandon you again, remember? I'm trying to get things moving plot wise, but I don't want to rush anything, so bear with me good things are to come. I have a poll up on my profile regarding 'like a shooting star' and what you want to read in it, so please go take it! If for some reason it isn't there, please just PM me/review with what you want to see next in that story. Enjoy! Also, I don't think I mentioned anything about Emma having glasses in previous chapters but, like in canon, teenage Emma has them, so I'm mentioning it this chapter.**

* * *

_8:15AM, Gold's House_

Emma awakened with a jolt, halfway sitting up in her bed as she stared around the room, frowning. The small clock on the table read eight fifteen, and sunlight streamed through the curtains. She couldn't pinpoint exactly why she'd woken, but now that she was awake, she might as well leave the bed, however comfortable it was if she drifted off again she'd just miss Gold's promise of breakfast in town.

Yawning hugely, Emma shoved the duvet off, all the way down to the foot of the bed, and shivered as cool, early morning air hit her bare legs. God, she hated getting up.

The floor was equally chilly to her bare feet, but the hot shower was a refuge. Emma spent a good twenty minutes there, washing the feeling of long road trip off of her skin, and then just standing under the spray with contentment, a little half smile on her face. Upon stepping out of the shower and wrapping herself in one of the huge, fluffy grey towels that were in the small linen closet, Emma couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so clean and comfortable. Showers in previous years were a hurried affair, hot water a luxury to be conserved, and the other girls she lived with pounding on the bathroom door until the water was shut off. This house was refreshingly quiet, and if Emma were in less of a good mood, she'd say that it was downright eerie.

Wringing out her wet blond locks, Emma piled her hair in a bun on top of her head and dressed quickly in jeans and a comfortable sweater. Once she was out of the bathroom she slid on her glasses, blinking as the world came into better focus, and taking her hair out of its bun. Downstairs she could hear the softest of movements an adult walking around, as opposed to several small children.

Sliding her boots on and grabbing her jacket, Emma opened the bedroom door and shut it gently behind her, padding downstairs where it smelled of herbal tea and the mustiness of old books a not entirely unpleasant smell, although Emma wasn't huge on the books.

''Good morning, Emma,'' Gold greeted her as she stepped into the kitchen. ''All ready, I see?''

''Yeah. Your hot water pressure is fantastic.'' Ugh, she could so weird. It seemed to amuse Gold, however, for he let out something between a snort and a chuckle.

''Yes, I enjoy it. Tea?''

''Thanks, but I'm more of a hot cocoa girl.''

''You're in luck, then Granny makes the best hot cocoa I've ever tasted.''

''Does everyone call her Granny?'' Emma queried as Gold flicked off the burner, and stepping back into the hall as he walked past her to pull his coat from a peg.

''Yes. Don't ask me why, I honestly haven't the fainest.''

Nodding, Emma accepted this. Small town oddities. She could get with it.

''The entire town is walkable from here,'' Gold began, gesturing down the drive, ''you could probably make Granny's in five minutes. However, my leg wouldn't agree to that, so we must take my car.''

''Sure.''

''How did you sleep, anyway? Was your room comfortable?''

''Very,'' Emma answered, with a genuine grin. ''It's really nice.''

They rode the few minutes into town in relative but surprisingly comfortable silence. Gold parked across the street from the small diner Emma had seen last night, and they crossed the street, entering the small diner with a jingle of the bell above the door.

A dark haired woman behind the counter glanced up, double taking as Gold stepped in, and then downright staring as Emma followed. In fact, most of the patrons seemed to quiet as they stepped through, and Emma was distinctly aware of the fact that she was being scrutinized by _everyone_.

''Gold,'' a harsh voice barked out, and a stout, scowly looking old woman nudged the young waitress aside, taking her place at the counter and fixing Gold with a hard look. ''Rent's not due for another week.''

''I know _that_, Granny,'' Gold said smoothly, a trace of exasperated sarcasm in his words, ''I came to eat. You do still serve breakfast, yes?''

Granny eyed him. ''Who's that?''

Emma resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably as Granny's gaze found her.

''This is Emma, my ward.''

''Your _ward_?''

''She needed somewhere to stay,'' was all Gold said, and though Granny seemed far from satisfied by his answer, she shook her head.

''Well, sit down then. Show's over, folks,'' she called out to the scant number of people who were all still watching the conversation with shameless interest. ''Eat your damn breakfast.''

The waitress from before, after a few hissed words from Granny, came over to their table, looking less than pleased. ''What'll you have?'' She asked, whipping a pad out of the pocket of her astoundingly short red shorts, and raising an eyebrow at Gold.

''Coffee, black. Oatmeal, milk and sugar, please.''

''Sure. And you?''

''French toast and bacon, please. And a hot chocolate? With some cinnamon?''

The waitress Ruby, her nametag read looked up, fixing her with a curious gaze. ''That's funny. There's only one other person in this town who takes their cocoa like that.''

Emma smiled slightly. ''And here I thought I was unique.''

At that, Ruby cracked a genuine smile. ''I'll get those right out to you.'' She even let the smile flash over to Gold for an instant before she was sashaying back behind the counter.

''You'll find that there's a _very _small town mentality here,'' Gold said, smiling wryly. ''It never changes.''

''Why does Granny hate you?''

Gold shifted his gaze from Emma over to Granny, who was clearing plates off a corner table. ''I'm her landlord. I'm almost everybody's landlord, actually. People aren't too pleased to pay rent, and especially not pleased when they have to see me early.''

Ruby breezed by, leaving two steaming mugs on their table. Emma grabbed hers instantly, inhaling the sweet smell of quality chocolate and spicy cinnamon.

''She's right, there is only one other person who likes their cocoa like that.'' Gold sipped at his coffee. ''You'd like her I think.''

''Will I meet her?''

Gold chuckled. ''It's not a terribly large town, dearie. I'd say you'll know her by the end of today.''

* * *

_5PM, Elementary School_

Being in the school after hours was always a little unsettling or, at least Mary Margaret had thought so for as long as she'd been teaching.

Grading papers at home meant that there would be wine, and probably a movie, and she wouldn't get nearly as much work done as she had originally intended. Staying at the school, however, with nothing but a hot mug of tea and some leftover lasagna was a little less comfortable, and with fewer distractions, so Mary Margaret was able to concentrate all the better for it.

It was nearing five thirty, and she had hoped to get to the hospital before visiting hours ended at eight it had been at least a week since she'd last stopped by John Doe's room. It had become a ritual of hers, ever since she had learned of the comatose man, all those years ago...it was horribly sad that he was alone there, nameless, and reading to him had always brought her a little bit of comfort, like maybe he was listening somewhere inside, and would feel more inclined to wake up if he knew someone was out there speaking to him.

But that was the mind of a romantic, which Mary Margaret had always been. There were worse things to be, she supposed, taking a sip of cooling tea and writing a smiley face on one of the papers. Two more, and she was done.

Mary Margaret always tried to pick assignments that she would enjoy reading, but even the topics she loved could grow dull, especially if her mind was wandering, and she added a few lines of constructive criticism to the last paper, before stacking it neatly atop the rest with relish. Oh, her back hurt standing, she winced as blood rushed back into her legs and her spine stretched out into a straight line again from its uncomfortably curved position. Gathering her coat and bag, Mary Margaret deposited the papers in her drawer to be handed out the next day, and picked up her dirty dishes. The overhead lights were off, which only left her desk lamp to be flicked off, and then the classroom door closed and locked behind her. Her boots clicked loudly against the long hallway, stopping briefly as she entered the teacher's lounge to dump her dishes in to the sink before she was on her way again, exiting the school and breathing in a lungful of fresh air, shutting her eyes briefly.

Jane Eyre was in her bag again it had been good last week, just approaching one of her favorite parts, and she couldn't bear to switch it out for anything new, though she had been reading Doe the same book for weeks in a row.

From the school, which sat a few blocks off of the main street, it was a ten minute walk to the hospital as were most things in Storybrooke. It was a good town _not _to own a car in, or at least Mary Margaret thought so. Owning a car was less expensive, too the only thing she was dreading was the cold of the late autumn and winter. Walking would probably lose most of its charm when she had to wear heavy snowboots everywhere.

Turning onto the main street and avoiding a large puddle of water in the middle of the sidewalk, Mary Margaret began to hum to herself, nodding and smiling at Archie Hopper as they passed each other, and then nearly jumping out of her skin when a large clanging echoed across the street it was a grand sound, impressive and almost pretty. And, Mary Margaret realized with a sort of puzzled shock, it was coming from above her head. More specifically, from the clock tower across the street, the one that had stopped working long ago, before she'd ever moved here.  
How funny that someone would fix it so suddenly and she couldn't remember ever seeing anyone work on it. Maybe they'd done it the previous night. It certainly hadn't worked yesterday, nor could she recall hearing it on her way to work or in the classroom that morning, though it would be a miracle if _any _outside noises made it through the constantly chattering voices of her kids.

Shaking her head, Mary Margaret continued to walk, her heart still a little fluttery from the sheer surprise the sound had brought on. As she passed Granny's, an irate looking Regina Mills was just going in, and she eyed Mary Margaret with such contempt that it could almost be felt burning through her coat. They had never been the best of friends the Mayor was purely terrifying at times, and thus Mary Margaret tended to avoid her but blatant hatred wasn't usually Regina's style. It was certainly shaping up to be an odd afternoon. A breeze blew Mary Margaret's scarf around, and the hospital was a welcome sight as she neared it.

* * *

Whale's idea of quiet rest was supplying David with the local paper, and a pencil, and orders to 'read up and finish the crossword', neither of which David particularly wanted to do he was going stir crazy in his own skin, the room a dull, monotonous _blue _around him, and the hospital pajamas uncomfortable. He ached for a hot shower and his own clothes whatever they might be.

David hadn't been _lying_, per say, when he had said he didn't remember anything. He didn't, not really nothing that made any sense to him on any level.

He remembered feeling cold wind stinging his cheeks, as if he were stuck inside a whirlwind of some sort. He remembered the damp earth beneath his palms, and feeling dizzy as though he'd been hit over the head. He remembered the cars rushing by on the highway, and the damp drizzle of rain that had been blanketing the forest that day.

What he hadn't said was that he remembered crying the sound of a baby's impatient squall, and the distinct feel of a warm bundle being pressed into his chest. By whom, he couldn't remember. He caught flashes of dark hair in his memory, and a sweet voice murmuring into his ear: _he said it would be on her sixteenth birthday. What's sixteen years when you have eternal love?_

_I will always find you._

It made no sense, but every word he could remember brought a clench to his chest, one that he couldn't describe other than to say that it felt like he was in pain, like he'd lost something utterly precious, but _he couldn't place it._

Sighing, David scrawled something into thirty four across, head jerking up as someone rapped politely on the door-frame. He'd been expecting Whale, and was fully prepared to wheedle a shower, clean shirt, and bag of takeout from the man when he registered exactly who was standing there, and his heart skipped.

It wasn't Whale, obviously. Her hair was dark and cropped short, her skin pale, and she was biting her lip a little nervously. She had a book bag slung over one shoulder, and a pink scarf wrapped around her neck. ''Er, hello, Mr. Nolan.'' She smiled at him, and David stared like an idiot for a few seconds, before blinking.

''Hi,'' he set the paper down, resiting the urge to rub his eyes. ''Come in.''

''My name is Mary Margaret,'' she said, stepping fully into the room and holding a hand out for him to shake. ''I volunteer here...I've been reading to you for a while now, when you were...''

''Asleep,'' David supplied, when it was clear she was uncomfortable saying 'comatose'. ''Please, pull up a chair.''

She did so, smiling a little wider at him as she sat, resting her bag near her feet. ''I came today to do the same, I usually get around once a week or so, but then Doctor Whale said you'd woken...and I _really _hope I'm not disturbing you, I'm sure you're disoriented, and I can leave - ''

''No!'' David cut off her rapid words quickly, as her brow had begun to furrow and there was _no way _David was letting her leave now, not when his heart was fluttering like a teenager and she appeared to be the first truly _wonderful _human contact he'd had since waking. ''No,'' he repeated, softer. ''Please don't. To be honest, I was getting a little lonely here. Whale hasn't been by in a few hours. Not that he's great company or anything.''

The woman Mary Margaret chuckled. ''I'm sure you've been asked this already, but well how are you feeling?''

David broke her gaze for a moment, glancing down to his hands that were curled in his lap. ''Well,'' he laughed a little bitterly, ''I remember my name. That's something.''

A smaller, paler hand came into his field of vision, hesitating its movement for a moment before settling on his forearm. ''Don't worry,'' Mary Margaret said soothingly, ''it'll come back.''

He looked back up at her. She looked utterly sympathetic, her eyes sad and full of compassion.

''I hope so,'' he whispered. Clearing his throat after a moment, he cracked a grin. ''For now, I could use a real shower, and maybe a plate of food. Whale let me have pudding earlier, and some tea. I feel like I could eat an entire kitchen.''

Mary Margaret laughed again it was a beautiful, tinkling sound, like music, and David felt his heart swell.

''Maybe I can talk to him for you,'' she said, glancing over her shoulder as if to make sure Whale wasn't lurking behind her, before leaning in towards David conspiratorially. ''He likes me.''

Of course he does. You're perfect.

''So, Mary Margaret, what do you do?''

''I teach third graders.'' She shrugged, a flush coming to her cheeks. ''Not very glamorous, I'm afraid, but I enjoy it. Most of the time.''

''It sounds very nice.''

To her credit, Mary Margaret didn't ask 'what about you', like she probably wished she could hell, David even wished she could, but the more he thought about what he _had _been before appearing in the road all those years ago, the more his head hurt.

''Mr Nolan?''

This time, it really was Whale rapping at the door, looking not at all surprised to see Mary Margaret still there. ''David, I need to check your vitals.''

David nodded, and Mary Margaret stood. ''Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Nolan,'' she said with a smile, shouldering her bag again.

''Please, it's David.'' He gazed up at her, half hoping he didn't look as completely swept away as he felt, and part of him hoping that he _did, _because this woman was clearly amazing, and there was something at the corner of his brain tingling, like he was supposed to know her, but didn't. He didn't think they knew each other, surely she'd have said something, but it didn't shake the feeling of familiarity that filled him as he looked into her face.

''David,'' she tested, reaching out to pat his shoulder. It didn't feel nearly as awkward as Mayor Mills' had. ''I'll stop by soon.''

''Goodbye.''

Whale prodded him and listened to his heart for a good five minutes before pronouncing him fit, and clearing him for a _light _dinner. No burgers, no grease, no large portions. It was better than nothing, David mused fifteen minutes later, toweling off from the shower and pulling a plain Hanes t-shirt over his head. He wasn't allowed to leave until the next morning, and so a nurse had been sent to pick him up something from one of the local restaurants.

When he arrived back upstairs, it was sitting on his bedside table a bag containing some freshly sliced strawberries, a carton of yogurt, and a bowl of still warm stew. A Styrofoam cup rested next to the bag, which had a note under it.

Taking a sip from the cup hot chocolate, interesting David looked over the note.

_'Get well soon, David xoxo Granny's'_

Granny's that was the name of the diner. Had he known one of the girls there?

Shaking his head, David put the note in the empty bag with a small smile, and went about eating his small meal.


End file.
